


Issues With Raising the Dead, and Other Concerns

by Volrosso



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore, The Academy Is...
Genre: Multi, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-06 02:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4204308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volrosso/pseuds/Volrosso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here's the thing: Necromancy is fucking illegal.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Magician reached his mud streaked hand into the hole he'd dug, pushing all his worries into the back of his mind. It was raining hard, had been all day. So the dirt was becoming too slippery for him to get too close to the edges- it was risky for him to even be as close as he was. Would this work?

Apparently so, he gasped as weak, frozen fingers closed themselves around his wrist. He gripped tight, hoisting his target out of the hole to the best of his ability, trying to keep them both from toppling in headfirst. That would be counterproductive. He didn't ask his companion -standing just a few feet away- for help. He was just standing there, motionless, watching the scene.

Just the way the Magician liked him.   

It took a while for the individual to make it out of the hole, scrambling against a muddy bank that seemed to be doing everything in its power to keep him from getting up. Maybe this storm was Mother Nature's way of expressing her disapproval with the Magician, or maybe he'd have to try harder to keep his companion under control. But he continued to help as much as he could, even though he wasn't all that strong.

Eventually, the individual thought to vault himself off the glossy black coffin in the hole, scrambling up. His legs gave way halfway through his climb though, and the Magician had to pull him the rest of the way. The Magician's companion twitched, figuring he should hop into action and help out, but one well-placed look from his friend kept him in his place, still as a statue. 

The Magician's target left no shadow when he stood up straight, his wobbling form illuminated by lightning, and the tiny lights that were still on in the windows of the church. The Magician had to hold him up, the climb had sapped the rest of his already-limited energy. His face was covered in mud, with only his vacant blue eyes visible. The Magician grinned at him, brushing mud off of his face with the sleeve of his coat. 

"It's good to see you," he told the man, who didn't respond. "I missed you." 

Still no response. Though he was covered in mud, the Magician still hugged him tight. "You're going to help me, okay? And then things can be like they were before." He pulled back, smoothing the man's mud slicked hair out of his face. "You and me, Spence. You and me." 

-

 

 

_We're at the coffee shop that just opened up across the street from the charming little bakery I conducted my last interview in. With Velocity, lovely individual. The information I got from him was good and solid, but there's still so much I don't understand, Hopefully the Artist can clear up some things and put my mind at ease._

_The atmosphere is cheerful, people chatter all around us and sunlight pours through the windows up at the front. It's a beautiful day. I am across the table from the legend himself, and he seems a lot smaller in person, a lot more manageable. I suppose I always thought he was towering because of his presence, but I am shown that it is in fact only his presence that's towering, as he is quite a small man, hunched over his coffee slightly. His hair is long, dare I say, quite greasy. I suppose I can't judge._

_He's dressed- I can't tell exactly, he's in a black poncho. An interesting fashion choice, I suppose, but the Artist is an interesting man! He seems as confused about my choice in notebook as I do in his choice in clothing, raising one eyebrow over the frame of his circle sunglasses. He looks worn, chews on the plastic brim of the cup absently as he tries not to look at me too long. Or I think he's looking at me. I can't be certain._

Gerard watched the kid jot down his notes excitedly. He didn't ask about the puppy notebook. He didn't ask about anything. Gerard didn't want to be here. He'd do anything to not be here. And there was no salvation to be found.

Usually he was out with Mikey, and Mikey was good at a lot of things- _especially_ deflecting curious individuals. At least to _those_ people Gerard and Mikey were just eccentric looking men and not a famous heroes. That made this interview so much more taxing. The guy knew, and Gerard wasn't happy about it. As a general rule of thumb, heroes from the golden age weren't fond of talking about their experiences. People got weird about stuff like that.  

Gerard would pay the guy across the coffee shop three dollars max to get him out of this situation. He seemed to be the only one who could provide an escape- maybe Gerard could pretend he knew the guy until the kid gave up? He'd done that before. Twice, at least. And one other time he'd pretended to be dating a girl just to get away from a reporter. It had ended terribly, but it had saved him a lot of grief. 

The kid reading a comic book nearby would be no help, especially because he seemed to be reading an issue of _Volt._  Gross. Who the fuck liked _Volt?_  Gerard had always been irritated by the guy. The kid was out.

The mother of three at the counter was struggling too hard to be of any help. But that guy- that guy was all alone. Just sitting there with a drink, reading the paper. Maybe if Gerard stared at the back of the guy's scruffy head long enough he'd look around and strike a bargain, anything for his help in exorcising the overexcited imp on front of him.

This was the only thing Gerard missed about living on the Island, the lack of people there who wanted to know everything about you. The man didn't look around. Whatever, his clothes were dumb anyways, Gerard wanted nothing to do with him. Let him read his dumb articles about grave robbing.

Gerard sighed and untucked the pencil from behind his ear, drumming the eraser on the table. "What do you want," he asked finally. The second plan was to get this done fast as possible so he could go about his life. 

"You're looking over at that guy. You know who he is?" The imp didn't even look up from his scribbling. Gerard looked back over. A tall, scarecrow thin man with a mop of brown hair- "He's a famous journalist. Famous for outing heroes like you." 

Gerard looked away quickly, fear twisting in his stomach, cold and cruel. "That's..." 

"Ryan Ross." The imp nodded, looking back up at him with a smile. Gerard wasn't sure what to do now. He'd never met this kid, he didn't know what he could get away with, or what the kid was capable of. Most story chasers were easier to pin down, but the imp before him had Gerard stumped. "So, you can give me what I want or I can leave you at his mercy." 

Fucking _frigid_. Gerard scowled at him. "What is it you want," he snapped, leaning back in his chair. God, could this day get worse? 

"You know what I want," the imp replied, pen ready when Gerard was. Gerard curled his lip at him and the imp looked back at Ross pointedly. This put him in an even worse mood.

Usually he had more patience with people like this but he was already having a _day_ , and he still had to go shopping with Mikey, which took approximately seven years for a round trip. And he had to call his mom. It had been too long. Not that he was trying to avoid it, he was just tired of people asking him if he was fine, _clearly_ he was, and if he needed anything, which _clearly_ he didn't.

So really, all this small punk child was doing was cutting into the already-limited time Gerard had to finish what he was working on for that snobby rich guy on the west side, talking about golden age of superheroics, something that ended approximately five years ago, going on six next month when the anniversary of the collapse of the Bridge came around again.

Speaking of which, he had to get into contact with Ray and do something about that. Shit. He was avoiding Ray too, for very different reasons. Maybe he should stop being such a scaredy cat and just call him when he got home.

"You want what literally every other child in the city wants, no doubt." To know about the collapse of the Bridge, something Gerard was not going to talk about to anyone. Just the mention of it was enough to make him feel ill, really, he didn't even talk about it with Mikey. "Seriously, how did you find me? You didn't tell anyone did you?" Gerard supposed he'd be a lot more mad about someone knowing his secret identity back in the day, you know? Or you know, if it was Ryan Ross across the table from him. The guy had ruined lives with the slander he was capable of. _Nobody_ hated heroes more. So he'd take this small demon. It didn't really matter anymore. "You missed the golden age by a few years, superheroes are out now."

"That's not true," the imp said. "I like to think of it as more of a stasis. And nobody knows who you are, don't worry, I'm just super good at guessing. Get 'em right every time." 

Gerard scowled at him. Maybe he was a young hero looking for someone to train him? God no. Please. If Gerard never had to deal with another fledgling vigilante it would be too soon. He wasn't even qualified to train vigilantes. Science users were worse though, Gerard had dealt with enough of them in his lifetime, no thank you. He had no patience for science heroes, they were all so _superior_ , so rude. Magic had more benefits anyways.

He swirled his coffee around in the cup. It was almost empty. Soon he could leave. Maybe he could pretend he was late for an appointment? "You know where I was yesterday? Bowling. With fucking King Cobra. You know how he-"

"-almost singlehandedly took down the Bridge on his own three years before the collapse? Tried to kill you on  _six_ different occasions, the most famous attempt was right after Starkid almost destroyed the underground with a demon in his first wave of action before he joined the Peacekeeper. You had to face him alone for the first time, your brother was dealing with the villain under the city. He also convinced the Starkid to try to crush the city with a fucking meteor yes, I am familiar with the King Cobra." The imp laughed. "King Cobra. What a name, right? I always thought it was a bit over the top." 

The Peacekeeper. Gerard blinked. There was that feeling again, that tightening in his chest. Bad. This was bad. He didn't feel like he could continue this. "I think I have to go." He was getting up before the imp could even say anything, gathering up his bag. Not even Ryan Ross could scare him enough to get him to talk about the Peacekeeper. The Peacekeeper could always be used as a warning that the Bridge would get brought up at some point in the conversation. 

And the imp protested profusely, but Gerard wouldn't hear it. He just wouldn't, he couldn't. That was a beginner's mistake. Bringing up the Peacekeeper was a deadly thing- in front of ANY Second Wave hero you encountered. Gerard swallowed hard, trying to think of things that were not the fire flickering at the edges of his mind. Fire.

_Nope._

He walked on out, straight past Ryan Ross, who looked up at him over the top of his paper before losing interest again. 

The imp followed Gerard as he walked, which was insanely frustrating. "Kid, fuck off would you?" His voice was wavering, shit. Gerard tried to focus on being angry. This was _his_ fault, it was this kid's fault.

"No, I need to know! You're friends with King Cobra now?" He walked alongside Gerard, having to speed up every so often so he wouldn't get left in the dust. 

"Not by any means. That's my point. We can be civil to each other, the dynamic is fucked up. Nobody _needs_ me anymore, nobody needs my brother anymore, nobody needs anyone who lives on that godforsaken Island anymore. Superheroes are _over_. End of discussion."

"You don't believe that." The imp had stopped walking. And he was right, Gerard didn't. He didn't live under a rock, he could see the trouble that was brewing just beyond the horizon. He just wouldn't admit that it was there, thinking about the fucked up weather and the mysterious disappearance of Specter's body weren't going to help his panic. And you know, this seemed like a job for another generation. There was enough wannabe superheroes and vigilantes in the world to stop petty villains from coming out of the woodwork.

"Go home, kid," Gerard said, and finally the imp stopped following him. Not to say he wouldn't be back, they always came back. It was surreal though, that in this day and age, out of costume, someone would take an interest in him. Back in the day he'd fend them off with a doodle that moved, reporters were so easily entertained. But this one? This one was going to be a pain, he could tell already. 

Gerard hated persistent reporters. Bet this kid thought he was different than the rest of them. Bet that he thought he could crack whatever code his predecessors couldn't get through. As if. Nobody was going to give him anything. 

It took the entire walk home for Gerard to calm himself down enough to be able to think properly. He passed the bank. He passed the club Pantomime owned, that he took charge of after he moved off the Island. He stopped briefly under the flickering neon sign, considering going in for just a moment- he hadn't seen Pantomime in months. 

That was probably for the best. He kept walking. 

The old Registry, complete with broken windows and boarded up doors since they opened a shiny new one in the city. The buildings got more and more run down as he started getting to the "bad" side of town, which wasn't really so bad with the sheer amount of ex-heroes who lived there. And villains now, too. None of which were too inclined to keep blowing up subway lines and setting fire to orphanages. Everyone just seemed to want to get by nowadays, like Gerard.

He waved to Tyler on his way up. Tyler ignored him. Gerard was used to it, the kid was usually caught up in how own little world. The wallpaper peeling situation in the hall hasn't gotten any better, someone's shitty kid has probably been speeding up the process. Probably the kids who lived down the hall, there was like ten of them that their mother couldn't control, all of them screaming through the night and interrupting Gerard's already fucked up sleeping patterns. 

One of the lights in the hall was flickering, right in front of Ryland's door, though it was hard to tell if it was him or the Starkid causing it sometimes. Ryland tended to get the blame for all the terrible things in Gerard's life though. He was someone Gerard had never forgiven. Sure, he could pardon the Starkid, but Ryland had knocked Mikey's flower pots down last summer running up and down the fire escape, and his friends that were always over threw too many parties while Gerard was trying to work. Plus, you know, the whole _desertion during the Battle of the Bridge_ thing. How silly. 

Gerard's hands were still shaking from earlier. It made it hard to open the door. The apartment was dark when he finally managed to, and he had to take a moment to compose himself in the doorway. 

Mikey had left a note on the counter for him, on a purple sticky note. Or rather, Ray had. That was definitely his writing.

_He's at my place tonight! Hope to see you tomorrow!_

And then there was a cute little drawing of Mikey in the corner. Gerard sighed. There was another tacked on the fridge that said

_Turn your f@*king phone on- Mikey_

Also in Ray's writing. This deterred Gerard's hunger. The coffee was sitting heavy in his stomach anyways. He didn't turn his phone on. Gerard wasn't entirely sure why Mikey being away was making him so moody, but hey, any excuse to be petty towards Ray. Whatever. He left his phone on the counter as a final fuck you. Yeah. That would teach them.

And now he'd go work on something since it was quiet. No screaming children, no freak thunderstorms, no Mikey bumping into things. Just Gerard. Gerard and his studio.

There were five proper rooms in Gerard and Mikey's apartment. The living area, the bathroom, the kitchen, "Gerard's Room" and "Mikey's Room". Alternative titles to the final two might be "The Way's Room" and "Gerard's Studio/Nuclear Test Site" but neither of those had the same ring.

Gerard's room probably hadn't seen the light of day since the time of his ancestors. You might find hieroglyphics under his bed, along with a black rat the size of a domestic cat chilling with Mikey's _actual_ cat, who Gerard was allergic to, and who had a bad habit of getting lost in there and meowing after he'd been trapped under a pile of pizza boxes from 1997 for two hours. Gerard slept in Mikey's bed with him because it helped with the crippling nightmares they got, and also because he hadn't seen his bed since the last president took office.

Back on the Island they'd had a huge house to themselves. The Island was good for that, every hero who lived there could be as fancy and upper class as they wanted. Mikey and Gerard had lived with Ray back in the glory days because heroes tended to stick together in groups. It helped with the nightmares sometimes, being together. But you know, Ray made Gerard's nightmares worse. It was part of the reason they'd left. There were others, many others, but that was one of them. 

The home phone was ringing. Gerard couldn't bring himself to care enough to go get it, even though it could be Ray and that would be important. He was not in the right mindset to be talking to Ray. That was something he usually had to prepare himself for.

Gerard ignored whatever silly message on the machine Mikey was leaving, rummaging around the desk for his sketchbook, which was usually very useful when he was in one of these moods. Drawing was calming. Using magic was even more calming, but he'd been trying to limit himself since the Bridge collapsed, just in case.

Flipping through pages and pages of scary black and red illustrations, he stopped at a blank one and started off with an alley cat, one made out of big thick strokes of charcoal. He made it walk across the page and sit down again, just a bit of magic wouldn't hurt right? The cat stared up at him, blinking its eyes, and Gerard smiled a bit. He let it walk across the page, watched it strain against the confines of the paper, but that was DEFINITELY as far as hed let it go. That was enough magic for now. 

Maybe he'd show Mikey later if he came home. Sometimes he stayed with Ray overnight, which was just fine. The annoying part was that he liked to pretend that he wasn't seeing Ray when he got home, talking about all the cool things they did over on the Island and that they could totally move back there one day when Gerard got over the crippling trauma associated with the place. Maybe Mikey couldn't see the hickies on his neck, but Gerard certainly could.

It didn't really matter. Everyone loved Ray. Even Gerard loved Ray, in his own _you're-associated-with-crippling-trauma-so-I-avoid-you way_. He'd see Mikey tomorrow, and that was fine. Gerard wasn't really worried about that. He was caught up in thinking about how Spectrum was doing. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Velocity, Interview #1**

_Velocity is one of the only Third Wave superheroes I've come by in my time here. I knew of a lot more in the past cities I've lived in, but the heroes here are very quiet. It's a bit inconvenient, because none of my past interviews will get me any closer to the answers I'm looking for. I ask Velocity if he knows about anyone else, just casually, you know._

_Apparently, he only really knows of two others, one of them being his partner, whom he lovingly refers to as "Blurryface". The look on his face suggests they're more than a crime fighting duo, but I don't ask much about him. He doesn't say much else._

_Velocity is a relatively tall individual, I notice as he sits himself down, but most people are taller than me, so who's counting. He's dressed in a grey hoodie underneath a t-shirt, all of him soaked from the rain, his pink hair dripping into his eyes until he ruffles it to dry it out a little. He's less nervous than I've known any Second Wave heroes to be, when he looks around he's just taking in what's around him and not fearing for his life. Is this what it's like now? I'll be sure to ask._

_I ask him about what it was he saw, and his attention snaps to me again. Straight to the point, that's what Third Wave heroes like. I've talked to loads of Second Wave heroes- mostly in other cities, the ones who were not directly affected by the collapse of the Bridge, but who were driven out of a job by the backlash the Peacekeeper caused. The arrogant ones will go on and on about the good old days until you're just nodding along and thinking about things you could do, anything to get them to stop talking. The ones in this city don't like talking at all. But the new heroes- Third Wave heroes like Velocity- still have purpose. They're more easily accessible._

_There's not nearly enough of them to replace all the Second Wave heroes who retired after the Bridge collapsed, but there's enough. They keep busy. I motion for Velocity to proceed, and he begins. "It was a week ago you know, I really only started thinking back on it because of something that happened yesterday?"_

_I'll ask about that later. He looks uncomfortable now, swallowing hard and looking beside him. He's probably used to working in a unit, he doesn't seem to be as comfortable without his partner, but he continues after a moment of concentration._

_"Okay, okay. It was a week ago, right? And me and Ty- me and my_ partner _were just getting home from a job- had to be like, midnight at the earliest, I don't know. We took the back route behind the old church in the nice part of town, you know the Catholic one?" I know it all too well. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth._

_But I nod, and he nods too, looking away before he continues. "We do it all the time. Like, almost every day. But I was getting a weird feeling while we were walking by, you know, some sort of feeling you shouldn't be having walking past a church and like, we used to GO there so I know it's not bad or anything, I know that much. But I was still getting this feeling, and he was too, and we honestly didn't even know what to make of it. So, you know. We did the stupidest thing anyone can do in that situation."_

**_You went to see what it was._ **

_He nods again, scratching distractedly behind his ear, eyes fixed on a bright haired girl at a table nearby. She's not interesting enough to divert my attention. "Yup. Superheroes, right? Always getting themselves into trouble." He laughs nervously, shifting in his seat. He is not at ease. I wonder where this is going, if it could have been so horrible that it would affect someone in this manner._

_"So we were walking up through the church yard- like we do all the time without any trouble- when we started hearing sounds. It was like, pitch dark out there right? And I was... Okay I'm not_ scared _of the dark, I just don't... have a lot of reason to like it, I guess. Like I'd just prefer not to go walking through graveyards like some poor sucker in a horror movie, right?"_

**_Understandable._ **

_"So we were walking through the graveyard because Tyler has- because my_ partner _has no sense of self preservation and he's dumb, I keep telling him that we have to work on that whole limits thing, but does he listen? No. He doesn't. So here we were walking through a graveyard at night, it was seriously quiet, you could hear me nagging from like a mile away so he told me to be quiet, and I listened, cause I didn't want to attract like, a vampire or anything. Stranger things. So now we were walking and I'd stopped nagging and I could hear- I can't really explain it. Someone made this really weird noise- like think of... a zombie maybe, sort of this weird gurgling noise and then it was raining, and I knew someone was there... Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself." He pauses, recollecting his thoughts. "Okay. There wasn't a cloud in the sky when we got in there, It was a beautiful night, there was just a slight breeze and the moon was beautiful- and then just, all of a sudden it was raining... Storming, I'd say. But that's been happening a lot recently hasn't it?"_

_**It has.** Dangerous hail storms, storms that brew in literal seconds and don't stop for hours, days even, sometimes. It's really weirding people out, stumping the weathermen. Obviously this isn't a natural occurence. I'm hoping to get to the bottom of it with my search as well. _

_"I was freaked out. Like, seriously freaked out," Velocity continues, shifting in his seat. "We went and stood right by the back of the church where the roof hangs over far so we could keep dry for a little bit- and they were just... standing there."_

**_Who was standing there?_ **

_"These two... They were just guys. Two guys standing in front of a giant hole that they had dug. Like, who digs a hole in a church yard? It was the weirdest thing I'd seen all week at least, and someone tried to kill me with a brick hammer earlier that day. And I knew immediately, right when I saw the one that was standing that they were the reason I'd been feeling the way I was when we walked by. We only caught a glimpse of them, every time the lightning cracked they were illuminated for a few moments. The church lights were on but they were pretty dim, they didn't help much. I think..._

_"Okay, one was standing, and he was so, so still I thought he might have been a statue for a few minutes- okay well you know I just assumed he was a he, I didn't see his face, just his back, he was scruffy and his clothes were dirty and his hair was wet but there was clumps of dirt in it from what I could see- but there was still something kind of familiar about him. I couldn't tell you why. There's lots of things that didn't make sense, like when I tried to call out to them my voice wasn't working._

_"Like, you don't just dig up someone's grave, that makes you a bad guy, and it's our job to stop bad guys but my voice wasn't working, it was like, caught on something. When I tried to do anything- like I was seriously scared I wanted to make sure Tyler was okay cause he gets a bit..." Velocity waves a hand, which doesn't really tell me what Tyler is like when he's scared, but I guess I get the idea._

_"I don't know, usually it's nice just knowing someone's beside you, right? Especially for him. I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything, I couldn't touch his shoulder or grab his hand and I couldn't open my mouth to tell him we'd be fine. I couldn't move my feet, I couldn't look at him. It was something magic, I don't doubt it."_

_Velocity is a science based hero, of course he'd be untrustworthy of a magic user. I feel bad having to ask, but I want to be thorough. **And what about the other man?**_

_"The other- oh, he was just. Sitting there, he was taller when he stood up, he was dressed real weird too. He had a top hat on and... Like- you know, definitely like a First Wave hero."_

_There were only four First Wave Heroes in existence, I know that for sure. It's a term for the originals, those who dressed in hilariously impractical outfits and painted their faces because their magic was so strong they didn't have to hide their identities like any of the people who came after them. They're mostly known because all of their magic has since been banned- nobody else can control it in such a way. So dressing like them is a huge thing that you shouldn't be doing. A lot of villains back in the day tried, and none of them lasted long at all. It's pretty much comparing yourself to a god, far as heroes and their beliefs go._

_"Like you KNOW you're in big trouble when, right?" Velocity is shifting uncomfortably, fiddling with his sleeves, drumming his fingers on the table. Anything to keep from keeping still. "He had a top hat on, and a big long coat, and he took off the coat and just- he hung it off the other guy like a coat rack. And the other guy didn't even budge, just kept standing there. Top hat guy had this book in his hands, he was saying these weird words- more magic, I know. I couldn't tell you what kind, but it was probably pretty serious, judging by the feeling I had. I wanted to scream at him, you know, literally everything in that whole situation was setting off warning lights, two shifty magic using grave robbers behind a church..." He stops abruptly, looking a bit hesitant to continue._

_**You don't have to keep talking if you want,** I tell him, but my sentiments don't match. I need to know. I feel like this is the closest I've gotten to any useful information in my search to figure out what's wrong with the city. I guess he senses that because he takes a deep breath and continues. _

_"There was this light, this... it was like, green light. Loads of it. Just surging up from the hole and I was scared and I wanted to scream, or something, I don't know, grab hold of Tyler, run out of there fast as I could- which is pretty darn fast. I could get out of there without them noticing, I could get BOTH of us out of there without them noticing but I was stuck, that was the worst part, I was stuck and I had to watch. I couldn't look away._

_"The top hat man kept yelling, and the other man said nothing, did nothing, he just stood there. Maybe he was stuck like us, but we all just stood there watching as the green got more and more intense until it was a blinding white and I couldn't look anymore, I had to shut my eyes tight so I didn't go blind probably. And then it all faded and I could see again, and the rain had gotten harder, there was so much water rushing off the roof it was like watching through a waterfall, so everything was a bit blurry. I saw the top hat man lean down again, and reach into the hole..._

_"And he just. He pulled someone out. He pulled someone out of the hole- out of the fucking grave! That was the most fucked up part about all of this, he pulled someone out of the hole and they just stood there. At that point, me and Tyler, we were unfrozen. I grabbed him and I ran, I ran fast as I could and they didn't see us but nobody will believe me when I tell them about it. I'm not even sure if Tyler really believes that he saw it. He's usually skeptical about that stuff sure, but... It was just- it was fucked up. I don't like talking about it."_

_**Well thank you for talking to me about it,** I say, and I give him a reassuring smile but he's too spooked to return it, he just politely excuses himself and off he goes. The bell on the bakery door signals his sure departure. I'm sure I'll be seeing him again soon. I hope he understands that I believe him. _

_Attached to this document are notes I took from the week Velocity claims to have seen this phenomenon. The facts seem to match up, a grave_ was _in fact robbed, but he was the only one to witness it, anyone else who may have seen it is mysteriously not around to tell the tale. The investigation is getting pretty serious._

 _The grave in question was the grave of a widely known Second Wave superhero, Spencer James Smith, more commonly known as_ **Specter** _\- the first one to die in the Battle of the Bridge._

-

 

 

Frank was what some would call too ambitious. Or maybe he was just reaching too far, that was a very real possibility. He was sure he wasn't the only person who thought the things he did, but he seemed to be the only person worried about them.

His meeting with the Artist had been completely useless after all. Disappointing, but not surprising. He didn't seem too upset about Frank finding him out though, which was odd. He was an interesting person. Frank would definitely try to find him again if everything went south for a satisfactory 'I told you so'. And things _would_ inevitably go south, he knew it. He could feel it in his bones, and Frank's bones usually knew what was up.

So maybe one day, Frank would get that satisfaction in, but for now, he had to go get verbally abused for missing his shift to talk to the second most infamous hero in the entire city. He went over the information he'd taken in today in his head as he walked, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the pavement.

Something was going on. He didn't know what, Velocity didn't know what, the Artist didn't know what. No doubt it was linked to the shifty men Velocity had seen. Frank could see that being a very real possibility. The city was shifting somehow, it was kind of alarming.

Violence had broken out, it had started off as isolated incidents and evolved rapidly into near daily news, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, they were getting hail storms in the middle of otherwise sunny days and it rained off and on and off and on at random intervals. More and more people were claiming they'd seen ghosts of notable people who had passed years ago.

Frank thought, looking at the evidence of who everyone thought they were seeing, that it might have had something to do with the collapse of the Bridge, something Velocity wouldn't know about and something the Artist refused to talk about. Maybe he could convince the Artist to tell him something about it? God, he hoped so.

Frank wasn't sure when he'd be able to see him again though, he'd probably be fired for his absence today, and then he'd have to spend all that time finding a new job. It had gotten harder for any reporters after the Bridge had collapsed, when all the Heroes fell off the face of the Earth and retreated to the Island or went into hiding. You could either do what his rival was doing, outing heroes and getting villains sent to jail in today's day in age, or you could fall into the background hum of the city with the people who used to be the backbone of it. Frank had been stuck in limbo for a while. He'd figure it out one day. His hands were clean thus far, maybe he could keep them that way until he figured out what was going on.

Either everyone in the world would be right, or Frank would be. Frank was confident enough at least.

He was not, however, fully comfortable with walking home alone in the dark after thinking about all the terrible things the city had to offer nowadays, and the library was closing soon. He was getting sympathetic looks from the overworked college student over at the table across from him, who'd sort of been giving him the eyes for like an hour even though he was just trying to be nice when he smiled her way, but the crabby old lady at the reception looked livid. He imagined she'd let out a forked tongue and hiss at him if he didn't leave soon, but the idea of walking out there on his own was kind of scary, especially right after he'd worked himself up the way he did.

It used to be fine, back when they had proper heroes. Third Wave heroes were usually spread too thin to be at the right place at the right time, and with all the shit going down Frank would like to keep out of trouble. Maybe he'd jet a couple blocks to his friend's house. He wasn't even sure if anyone he knew lived anywhere close to him, or if the person he pictured was even still his friend after what had gone down last week. So he just decided he was going to pack up his things and wing it.

Frank waved to the college girl as he left and she gave him a tired smile. How nice. The librarian watched him go, he could feel her eyes boring into his skull. The streets probably weren't crawling with danger like Frank thought they were, he was prone to over-exaggeration every now and again, but it had kept him safe so far, hadn't it? Safe and secure, with no questions asked. 

Frank was hyperaware of every sound that he heard, many times he had the overwhelming urge to look up, many times he had to pat that down so he didn't get stabbed or something. He watched his shoes, one after the other in quick, rhythmic steps.

The inky night stretched out in front of him when he looked back up, and a shadow disappeared around the corner, something big and tall and human shaped. Okay, no. Frank crossed the street where he could, immediately.

This was the opposite way of his place, but he'd walk all night if he had to. That shadow was definitely following him- maybe there was two? The night had gotten a lot scarier all of a sudden, all the darkness around him seemed to be melting onto the pavement, spreading out like a puddle. Some shadows deformed, bent at weird and unnatural angles, all of them reaching for him.

This _had_ to be a weird dream. Frank picked up the pace. He didn't notice stepping in the puddles, he didn't notice the smells or sounds of the street, he just kept walking faster and faster until he was practically jogging. And still, the shadows pursued him.

There were at least three of the humanoid shadows now, tendrils of black racing down the sidewalk and snapping at his heels. Frank was trying not to panic- where would that get him? He'd gone so far off course he was down by the boardwalk now, with a clear view of the water, and the dim lights of the Island off in the distance. A whole Island full of people who could help him- who were all too far away to do so.

The shadow was getting closer. Frank was losing his cool at a record rate, grabbing his bag and breaking into a flat out sprint. Every time he looked back there was another shadow figure, each one closer than the last, and he tried to run faster but he really was too short to do so.

There was a store with the lights still on way down at the end of the street, if he could make it, though Frank hadn't had to run this much since high school, and he hadn't been so good at it then either. He was _especially_ bad at it now, he could hardly breathe and his chest was aching something awful. The pavement felt like it was melting under his feet, sticking and grabbing at his shoes, but he didn't want to look and see what was going on, he was fixed on getting to that store and praying to whoever would listen that that there would be people in there too. Shadows were obscuring his vision of everything, it was like running from a void that fanned out behind him.

The only light was the shop. He didn't even want to imagine getting there only to find that it was empty. He couldn't even consider that as a possibility. He'd be fine if he made it. Totally fine.

Just as he was in the warm golden glow of the shop, Frank's foot got stuck, sank right down to the knee in a puddle of shadow.

He yelped and went down hard, hitting the pavement and knocking his teeth together when he bumped his chin. Pain shot up through his chest and he prayed that he hadn't broken anything and he clawed at cracks in the sidewalk, pulling himself hard as he could. Thick black tendrils of shadow were snaking around his other leg, pulling him hard back into the void that had opened up but he couldn't let that happen.

His nails caught no purchase, his frantic efforts to find something to grab hold of brought up nothing but scraped up palms and more pain. He was losing the battle.

The human shadows stood up in a circle around him. It was seriously unsettling, Frank wanted to scream but he couldn't force air into his poor lungs. Like he didn't bully them enough, this would probably destroy them further. He was almost waist deep and slowly giving up. This was not how he wanted to go. This was _not_ how he wanted to go.

The bell for the shop rang as the glass door opened up and a man stepped out, probably the most ridiculous man Frank had ever seen, long hair and glasses and green, all Frank could make out through his blurring vision. And he walked right by, running his hand through the shadow, which split and rippled like water, little dots of light popping up in the expanse of black until Frank was sure he was looking at the night sky.

Frank was more concerned with the fact that they're no longer pulling at him, however, so he ripped himself free and shook his foot hard to get himself loose, losing his shoe in the process. He looked back once at the retreating figure as he practically body checked, though the shadows were dissipating like ashes. It was more force than was necessary for a door that was already open, so Frank went tumbling through, onto the bright pink shag carpet.

_What._

Someone needed to take a class on interior decoration, but Frank couldn't be bothered thinking about it now. He couldn't think. He just wanted to breathe. He lay there, gasping for breath, and there was the sound of water splattering against the glass doors, like a sudden torrential downpour that lasted only a second. The bell rang, signalling that someone had walked in. Frank froze up immediately. Maybe it was the guy in green returning? It wouldn't be more shadows, right? Maybe his plan hadn't been thought all the way through.

"You're going to have to take off any clothes the shadows touched," someone barked, and Frank's fear returned full blast because that meant his pants _and_ his shirt. Though he wasn't really in the position to not be listening to people barking orders at him. If he didn't obey maybe they'd kick him out back to the mercy of the shadows. He couldn't afford that.

So he started removing his clothes, deliberately slow because of reluctance and pain, swearing under his breath. He refused to take off his underwear though. And his undershirt. The shadows hadn't touched those. The guy would have to pry them off his cold dead body. This wasn't so bad, he still felt covered up enough to not be freaking out about it. 

Frank's legs were still shaking too bad to stand, so it was a bit of a pathetic struggle to get his pants off after the pathetic struggle with his shaking hands and his remaining shoe. He shivered, tossing his clothes wherever. The guy didn't say anything, just picked up Frank's ratty shoes and his good shirt and his remaining shoe and held them out in front of him like they were infected. They were set down on the reception desk, where they immediately caught fire.

Frank missed most of that. Good. He probably would have passed out before anything. After a moment, Frank finally mustered up the courage to sit up on the soft carpet and look at his companion. He didn't get all that long to process, he was yanked up from the ground under his arms and set on his feet, walking before he even really thought about it.

There was something familiar about this place, and about the guy shoving him along down a hallway. The guy didn't comment on Frank's appearance, which was kind of nice. It didn't quell his overwhelming anxiety, but who cared. He tried to think of other things. Frank had never been here before but he knew it, he knew where he was, where he'd seen the man in green before.

He'd seen the green man and this place a hundred times- in comic books.

Frank let out a hysteric laugh that made his ribs ache worse and made his strangely dressed companion give him a weird look. That was just it. This was the Bureau of Unfinished Business, a place that could only exist in comic books because of how illegal temporal magic was. Home of the First Wave Heroes. Frank would be so ridiculously excited if he wasn't still coming down from the second most terrifying experience in his entire life.

Good thing too, he didn't want to geek out. He was afraid of geeking out, but also afraid in general. It almost won over his discomfort.

Like, Mr. Sandman was walking him down the hallway. Mr. Sandman, his face painted up into a crocodile smile, with black rings under his eyes, skin pale and covered in glittery particles. He had on a long black coat that definitely looked worse for the wear with a copper collar, similar copper adorning his wrists and his ankles and shins, coming down around his legs in a cage like fashion. His coat swept the floor behind him as he walked, metal boots clacking against the floor. Frank wished he had a coat like that. He wished he could be half as cool, too. They passed by so many doors that Frank lost count, each a different colour and shape than the last, never repeating. It was like a maze in here, definitely some spatial magic at work.

Their target was a big yellow door at what seemed to be the end of the maze. It swung open without any prompting from Mr. Sandman, or anyone who might have been inside. Frank was pushed inside a bit roughly.

Everything inside was yellow, the walls, the carpet, the gold plated cogs that showed through the holes in the plaster, tick tick ticking away, and the man behind the yellow desk. He wasn't very imposing for someone with godly powers, bent over whatever he was writing. The huge yellow feather in his top hat swished around every time he moved. He looked up when the two enter the room, and smiled. Mr. Sandman smiled right back, scowling when Frank noticed. He sat Frank down in a seat in front of the desk and went to stand beside the yellow-clad man.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

The cogs in the wall kept spinning.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Like a clock. Frank looked up, wishing he had clothes on in the presence of one of the most powerful men to ever exist. Doctor Benzedrine smiled at him.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

"Sorry it took so long for you to get here Frank," Doctor Benzedrine said.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Frank's heart was pounding. He felt like he was melting under Benzedrine's gaze, like the man could see right through him. His eyes seemed to be switching colours, but maybe that was Frank's imagination. He'd seen weirder things tonight.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Frank didn't say anything.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

"We won't say anything," Doctor Benzedrine said. "You're here because we need you, and whatever it is you think you need to hide is hardly going to impact your mission."

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Damn. Magic. Every time. Frank swallowed hard, nodding. He was pretty sure this was all a very weird dream. That was Mr. Sandman's specialty, after all.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

"Not that we care anyways," Mr. Sandman said with a shrug. "We wouldn't be very good heroes if we judged people for silly shit like that, would we?"

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Doctor Benzedrine pursed his lips, nodding. They seemed almost human now, instead of the gods they were in the comics Frank had been reading since he was a kid.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Doctor Benzedrine leaned in closer. "You saw something tonight, didn't you? The shadows? You know what's happening don't you?"

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Frank shifted uneasily, thinking about all the things Velocity had told him, all the links between Specter and the grave robbing. He hadn't thought about the link between Specter and the shadows before now though. That made him uneasy immediately. He said nothing about it. Was he even allowed to talk about other heroes to Doctor Benzedrine? Mr. Sandman poked him in the back. "Huh? Do ya?"

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

"He does," Doctor Benzedrine said. "Or he will for sure, soon. Listen, Frank, you wouldn't be here unless we didn't need your help."

"Some SHIT is going down," Mr. Sandman put in, sticking his hands in his pocket. He was rocking on his feet, full of restless energy, nothing like his companion, who gave him a pointed look until he calmed down a bit.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Frank cleared his throat. "What is it you need?"

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Doctor Benzedrine got to his feet and Mr. Sandman opened up the door, gesturing grandly inside. Frank rose stiffly, following the good Doctor out as he began his explanation. The sound of the cogs filled up the hallway, fading as the door slid closed behind them.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

"I'm guessing you already know that what I have to tell you will be frustratingly vague. Can't give too much away, I can't mess with the timeline."

"It fucks up the other universes," Mr. Sandman put in. "Or at least that's what Catcher says."

Doctor Benzedrine nodded. "Right, right. It might also cause the end of humanity as we know it."

"Right." Frank felt faint. What a fucking day. Could they have sprung this on him some other day? Preferably when he wasn't in a state of emotional turmoil after a near-death experience? Mr. Sandman was laughing at his expression with an arm slung over his shoulders. Frank would like it if, you know, he didn't do that while Frank was shirtless. He didn't say anything. 

"A few weeks from now, something is going to happen," Doctor Benzedrine continued. "Something huge. You'll know what I'm talking about when it happens. Until then I need you to keep doing what you're doing, you'll need the Artist on your side for what's to come." He pushed through another door, a big red one, but instead of the lobby they were in a big room full of mirrors.

Frank frowned at his reflection, crossing his arms over his chest. This wasn't really a place he wanted to be when he wasn't fully clothed. Doctor Benzedrine was studying him in his reflection. He felt uneasy again, examining his own body. He looked pale and too skinny and he focused too long on the curves in his waist, making himself feel worse about the situation. Benzedrine removed his yellow overcoat, placing it around Frank's shoulders. It was warm, comforting. Frank pulled it around himself, smiling his thanks as Benzedrine continued talking. "I can't help you while you do this, is that clear?"

"Crystal." Frank gave him a thumbs up, and Doctor Benzedrine smiled again.

"It's not going to be easy. You'll need a lot of help from other heroes, but the Artist will be your primary ally in this battle."

"You two are like peas in a pod. Both shrouded in secrets and whatnot." Mr. Sandman wiggled his fingers, looking as cryptic as he could. "Both very reluctant to take your shirts off-"

"Pete- Sandman- fuck." Doctor Benzedrine sighed heavily. "Out."

"You got it boss." He didn't leave until gave the good Doctor a giant sloppy kiss on the cheek, smudging both of their paint. Doctor Benzedrine gave him a shove. He then set his hat right and took a moment to compose himself as Frank tried not to laugh. "Right. Well. As I was saying before-"

Mr. Sandman poked his head back in. "I mean you should take after Benzedrine, I can get him out of his clothes just by-"

"PETE, I WILL DESTROY YOU." The door slammed shut and Frank could hear Mr. Sandman cackling on the other side, and okay, he was laughing now too. Benzedrine's whole face has gone dark red under the paint. "Sandman. Sandman," he corrected himself. "Sorry. He's usually more professional than that."

"No worries." Frank waved him off, much more at ease now. "You were talking about my divine mission?"

"You're taking this pretty well," Benzedrine said. He must have still been worried that Frank thought this was some elaborate dream or a vivid hallucination or something.

"Hey, I've always wanted to be a superhero. Go on." Frank would just have to make some cool Superhero friends to help him deal with this. Just the thought of being able to work with the Artists was making him giddy. Ten year old Frank would be screaming.

Benzedrine, however had that vacant expression on his face though, staring off into the mirror. Frank recognized that as him going up or down the timeline. He felt kind of proud to have gotten something useful from reading all those comics. Benzedrine's voice was monotone when he talked. "Uh ohhh. Your family's looking for you." He blinked hard, shaking off his trance.

And just like that, the good feeling was gone.

"But don't worry about it, I think you're strong enough to deal with them. You're in charge of humanity, after all." Doctor Benzedrine dug around in his vest pocket, pulling out four playing cards. A joker, the ace of spades, a three of diamonds and a four of clubs. "This is all I can give to help you. You can only use each of them once, so use them wisely. One of us will come and help you. Just leave it near a window- preferably where someone won't be screaming if we show up. That _has_ happened in the past, I'd like to avoid it."

Frank nodded helplessly. This was _really_ happening. Maybe he should save Benzedrine's card for when his family found him. Maybe he could be useful and fast-forward time or something.

"Got it." Frank said, and Doctor Benzedrine grinned.

"Awesome. Here's what you have to do." 


	3. Chapter 3

**Spectrum, Interview #1**

_Spectrum is one of the easier heroes to find. She doesn't bother keeping to herself like some of the other heroes I've encountered in my travels. Maybe our first meeting was a little bit anti-climactic, but I never really care about stuff like that. I saw her at the grocery store and from the minute we locked eyes, I just... Knew. I knew I had to talk to her. She agreed to meet with me without too much of a hassle, and she wasn't scared off by my request. In fact, she accepted happily._

_Her choice of meeting place is in the park, out in the sun. Cute. It's an unseasonably sunny spring day, we probably won't get much more of them so she says she wants to take advantage of it as long as she can. I don't blame her. After the winter we've had, and the extreme weather that continues, I wouldn't waste this opportunity either. We chat idly for a long while, and this feels quite informal, natural even. I feel at ease. Spectrum's not jumpy in the same way Velocity was when I talked to him._

_It's nice- and equal parts intense- being in the presence of someone who could totally obliterate me. She'd never strike you as the type._

_Spectrum is very pretty. She knows how to dress herself and seems to have the same fondness for hair dye that the Artist has. It's bright blue, currently, it was orange the last time I saw her. Her smile is dazzling when she starts talking about something, I actually miss the first part of it because I'm so taken with it._

_But as soft and delicate as Spectrum seems, in a way she's the first immediately dangerous hero I've met with- Velocity needs room to maneuver and the Artist is useless without a writing utensil. Spectrum can fry me at any time she pleases._

_I don't think that will be an issue, however. Spectrum embraces my company with open arms. We're sitting in the grass, people watching, not in any sort of rush. She's smiling sweetly at me. This is so informal it almost feels like we could be friends, and not just two individuals really meeting for the first time._

_"So," she says, breaking the first comfortable silence that's befallen us. "You want something."_

**_Was it obvious?_ **

_She laughs again, and shakes her head. "The Artist has told me a lot about you," is the only explanation I get. I won't describe how that makes me feel. It's weird that he'd even remember my name after that disaster of a meeting. And second meeting. You know, I have been bugging him more than a bit lately, maybe I should let up._

_My first question is, **how do you know him?**  _Him _being the Artist, of course. At that, Spectrum's face darkens a bit, something passing through her eyes. It's there and gone in a second. I can't make it out. She brushes a strand of bright blue hair behind her ear and clears her throat before answering. "You know Thistle Blossom- of course you know Thistle Blossom. You could probably tell me the exact minute she was born."_

 _My reputation precedes me. I do know more about the Second Wave League than most people would find appropriate but I tell her, **no, I probably couldn't.** Though I _ can _tell you she was a beautiful girl who was scary in a savage way. And her birthday was May 22nd. She was a Gemini. "Well, you know that everyone on the League had a partner. The Artist and Vane, Starkid and the Peacemaker, the Pantomime and Specter..."_

 _ **Volt and King Cobra, Cygnus and Nightshade, Spitfire and Downpour.** She's looking at me funny but I just get _ so _passionate about the League, I can't help it okay._

_"Well, as I'm sure you know full well, you always choose to be paired up with the person you're closest to, for practical purposes. Like the Artist and Vane, they're brothers, and good ones at that, so they won't get into a giant fight and stop speaking to each other. Specter and Pantomime were best friends, so maybe things would go south but if you saw the way those two got on? You knew they'd be just fine no matter what. Spitfire and Downpour were really the only odd mix but they worked well together, on a professional level, so that was fine. But me? I was younger than all of them. I didn't know that there was a method to the madness over there. I walked in without realizing that. I didn't have any cool siblings with powers, I didn't have any cool super friends. I had a whole lot of anger and nowhere to direct it to, so hey, I thought, I'll just pair myself up with the girl and be done with it. Soon as I set eyes on her though? I knew I could trust her."_

_Spectrum looks distant. But it's not the dangerous sort of distant that brings most interviews crashing to a close. These are fond memories she's digging up. "Linds-_ Thistle Blossom _and me hit it off like_ _I'd never hit it off with anyone else in my life. We were cut from the same cloth I guess- we felt alienated by our normal families and a community we should have felt safe in. Neither of us had siblings or close friends. There were no girl heroes then, of course, there aren't even any around now really, so how could we fit in?_ _That didn't matter to me as soon as I met her._

_"Thistle was savage- ferocious. She was so beautiful and wild and untouchable. Like, manic pixie dream girl untouchable. She was fond of fishnets and red lipstick and making boys uncomfortable by just looking at them, which tiny little me thought was incredible. And people were afraid of her- with good reason too. The two of us were the perfect team- AND we had to work twice as hard to get half the recognition the men got. You know how it is. I think after a while she stopped caring about the recognition we were getting- because honestly, Thistle was just such a good person. Like, who cares about the recognition you get as long as you're doing all you can to help, right? I still caught her going on and on about the gap between us and our team mates, but you know, what can you do._

_"And the League wasn't too bad, either. No. Even with that power gap between us and the rest of them. It was nice back then. We were like one big giant family, I know that sounds kind of cheesy but that's the truth. We all cared about each other- we understood each other on some level nobody else could reach. I was really good friends with Vane at the time, he always knew all the gossip and had the best stories about the Bureau of Unfinished Business. I wondered how, but I never asked. Volt was fun too, since we both had nice frying powers. Thistle liked Cygnus a lot, I always found him a little too hot-headed for my tastes. Nightshade was more my style. Not only was he fun at parties- he could COOK. It was amazing._

_"But the Peacekeeper- the Peacemaker got on with everyone. He was the kindest soul I've ever met. He served as a father figure to me, and a brother figure to others. He seemed to just... get people, no matter what was ailing them. All of us loved him. It was supernatural, his ability to make people feel better. I've never seen anything like it. He made the League seem like more of a home than most of us had ever had. But it wasn't all fun and games, you know. We did fight among ourselves- that's where Gera- that's where the_ Artist _comes in." She corrects herself even though I know his name, and she knows I know. Habit. If she had slipped up in front of a reporter back in the day, they'd both be toast._

_"See, the thing with Thistle- she had this effect on everyone. I can't even really describe what it was about her, maybe a mix of everything. Most people- me included- thought she was god's gift to mankind. I think people are just destined to be attracted to people like her, if the attraction is there. And she knew I was pretty much madly in love with her, but she never asked about it, and I never said anything about it. I guess it started showing when she had the Artist pinned. God, he was smitten. And I was mad. Pity, I know, but if you'd known her you would have understood." I explain that I am very familiar with jealousy, and she just laughs, tossing her head back like I'm the funniest person alive currently. I don't ask about it. She doesn't ask me about it. "You can't get into passive aggressive fights the way a hero can, can you Frank?"_

_She does have a point. I make sure she knows that._

_"God, the Artist... I hated him. I loathed him a way that was usually only reserved for villains we fought, and, you know. Maybe also my parents, who hated me just the same way. Far as he and I were concerned, I was still winning this tense little standoff we had going. I_ lived _with Thistle Blossom. I_ _was her partner, her best friend. And I'm not gonna say we hadn't slept together a couple times, at least, and I won't say that I've had a lay like that in-_ _I guess you don't wanna hear about that. Teenagers, you know? They're wild! But I was winning, that's the deal. He won her over though, little by little, with little paper flowers covered in music notes that moved when you hummed to them, and dumb poetry- she was a sucker for dumb poetry. She liked him because he was shy and awkward, she told me. He tripped over his words when he talked to her and blushed when she complimented him and he was usually stammering for a good hour after_ _she kissed him, totally starstruck. I was the opposite, and it was kind of upsetting to me, you know, that she preferred people like him. But I wasn't about to change myself for someone, you know. That would be a silly move. So I let it go." She puts air quotes on the last three words._

 _"The Artist and me really went at it when he and Thistle started dating. I always passed it off as trying to help him become a better hero, because Thistle and I were the top of our class, top of the League even, so we had everyone vying after our attention. Exhausting, I know. But the two of us hated each other._ _He knew about my feelings and I hated him for his. We got into a war. Nothing harmful of course, both of us knew that Thistle would kill us personally if we hurt each other. Petty things. Funny things. His specialty was drawn on mustaches that lasted more than 24 hours, and mine was little tiny personal suns that followed him around all day and all night, so he never got any sleep and he'd be grumpy. Stuff like that. You should ask him about that stuff one time, it was actually hilarious._

_"We had to stop when I made one of my suns too hot and started a fire in his kitchen and one of the cats he drew to follow me around and trip me up wreaked havoc in my apartment, royally screwing up pots and pots of Thistle's plants. She was so mad, he was on the couch for months. We called a truce and I backed off, found someone else for a little while. They were good for each other, they lasted a long time. All the time from the second year of the League to the collapse of the Bridge with only two year long break in there."_

_I dodge the obvious question and focus instead on the other thing she said. A two year break? Spectrum deflects this too by waving a hand and laughing bitterly. "Her hiatus, you dope. She came back, though..."_

_There is a long pause and her smile fades slowly. I'm trying to muster up the courage to ask the question and she's trying to fend off the memories associated with it._

_I don't even have to ask._

_"You know I can't talk to you about that."_

_So I ask her instead what it was like after the collapse of the Bridge, and her expression doesn't perk up any, but she does respond, and for that I am grateful._

_"Well, what could we do? She was gone. There was a giant hole in my life that I couldn't pour enough alcohol into. I had a kid so I couldn't go after her, if you know what I mean. I wanted to, I really wanted to. But I couldn't leave a kid alone in the world like that- and it's not what she would have wanted anyways. She would have kicked my ass in the next life. I tried my best to be strong for my daughter, but it was so hard-" her voice cracks. I give her a bit of time to see if she'll stop talking, but she doesn't, she chugs on and I know this interview will soon be at a close._

_"He was doing terribly too. The Artist. He had his brother, but his brother was trying to get used to his new life after the battle, and he was struggling on his own. Both of them had been injured terribly, but the Artist had lost his best friend on top of that, and he was never really all that good at dealing with loss in the first place. He was sinking deeper and deeper just like me, and he didn't want to leave his brother behind either. So we helped each other. He moved in with me for a while, and we helped each other get rid of the demons that were chaining us together. We were like a strange little family, me and him and my daughter, we did the best we could together. We're partners now- or we were in that little tiny period after the Bridge collapse where people still thought they needed heroes. The Artist is a good person. I feel bad for treating him so badly."_

_I thank her for being so honest with me and she just nods, rising to her feet and excusing herself. This is usually how things end. I'll see her again soon. She must know trouble is on the horizon._

-

 

 

Frank had not had a great week. As far as weeks went, this one could be put down in the record books as one of the worst of all time. The weather had been getting steadily worse for days, he'd had to run around in thunderstorms wearing nothing protective but a hoodie, going from interview to interview while also trying to juggle work, which had proven to be a seriously impossible task. He was going to ask the Artist how he'd managed it back in the day, because he couldn't figure it out for the life of him.

And he never got the chance to figure it out. Frank got fired because his boss didn't believe that talking to what _she_ thought were washed-up superheroes was imperative to Frank's Divine Mission™. That was to say, she didn't think Frank's Divine Mission™ was imperative at all. Frank didn't know what her issue was, she should be more respectful to people who were trying to save the world.

And because Frank lost his job, he couldn't pay his rent.

Not that he really wanted to anyways, after the incident that happened on the Wednesday of the Worst Week Ever. Frank walked all the way home in the pouring rain just to find Bob-fucking- _Bryar_  leaning against the wall in front of his door, and Frank's heart started pounding. Bob looked the same as he did when Frank last saw him, but he had a proper beard now and his smile told Frank that he had gotten even more cruel. It was twisted. 

Frank had no intention of speaking to him. He brushed past him to get into his apartment, but Bob just followed him in. Frank didn't want to ask him to leave, he didn't want to say anything. He just wanted to grab what he could and get right out of there. He'd just go about his business despite the overwhelming anxiety gnawing away at him.

Bob whistled when Frank took off his sweater, tossing it over the back of the couch. "Look at you, Pinocchio. Just like a real boy." Frank almost turned and snapped at him right there, but that would probably be a terrible idea. Most definitely. Instead, he just kept milling about, packing things up into his backpack. Old interviews, ancient newspaper clippings, anything that might help him on his Divine Mission™. He wasn't sure where he'd be going from here, but if he was really desperate he'd have to use one of his cards or try to find the Bureau again, something nobody had managed to do in history.

One trip to the Bureau, that's what you got. But Frank wasn't really thinking about improbability now, he was thinking of ways to get out of here as fast as humanly possible.

"You're not even gonna say hi? Jesus, Iero, your manners haven't improved at all."

"If you don't fuck off I'm calling the police," Frank hissed. Bob didn't take that as a threat though.

"You know what'll happen if you do," was all he said, and Frank didn't want to say anything after that. He didn't even want to think about it. "Why don't you just come home- Frank is it? That's your name now? S'what the neighbour told me."

"Listen to yourself for like thirty fucking seconds and figure out why I'm not going home with you." Clothes. He needed clothes. Frank stormed into his bedroom and Bob followed, which made him insanely anxious but again, he wouldn't say anything. He wouldn't give Bob that satisfaction. "Fuck off, I'm serious."

"You're only inconveniencing yourself, is all I'm saying. You don't have to live like this." Bob looked around at the tiny room, smirking. "Is this worth it? Playing dress up in the city? How do you even afford-"

"I don't recall any point in time where that was your business," Frank said simply, shoving past Bob back into the main room. He was probably forgetting a hundred things but he couldn't think straight now, and he couldn't come back here. What if Bob told his mom where he was? What if Bob told other people _who_ he was? He couldn't have that. Frank grabbed his wet sweater and put it back on. "You know it's been just so fucking great seeing you again, but I have things to be doing."

"Playing hero, I heard." Frank didn't respond, he just left, and he could hear Bob saying things behind him and using words he'd have to start blocking out to keep from snapping.

He managed not to look back or get angry enough to turn back and try to fight Bob, so that was an accomplishment.  

Though, Frank wasn't even really sure where he was going to go. He didn't really have friends, he moved around too much and was far too busy to keep up any sort of relationship. He had people he knew, but not well enough to ask to stay with them for a while. There was only one place Frank could even consider staying at all, and he was seriously having some doubts about going there, considering the meeting he'd had with the owner, but what other choice did he have?

Pretty Liars was the club the Pantomime owned, and where Frank had met him originally- not that Frank could usually be found in places like that, but he was inexplicably drawn to the place, the same way he'd been inexplicably drawn to the park where he had literally collided with the Artist and the grocery store where he nearly tripped over Spectrum and the specific McDonald's Velocity and Blurryface happened to be at. It was a nice place, for somewhere on that side of town. Pantomime had said, offhandedly while they were talking, that if Frank ever needed help with anything that they took in anyone until they got back on their feet, even though Frank had no particular want to be living in a club with god knows who.

He couldn't go back home though. Not if Bob knew where he was. That ship had sailed. 

Frank would usually go a step further and leave the city, but there was no way he could do that now, with the Divine Mission™ he'd been tasked with. What if the world ended because he'd been a coward? That would be bad. 

So it seemed Frank had exactly one option. He kept trying to cheer himself up, as he weaved through the outskirts of the nice part of town, telling himself that this might have been predetermined. Maybe this was meant to happen. Maybe this was on the timeline. Doctor Benzedrine had warned him that he was going to see someone from his family- not that Bob was his family, but he counted, right? That was it! The worst was over, right? Frank repeated that countless times in his head, hoping desperately that Pantomime wasn't just being polite when he offered.

The sign to Pretty Liars was in pretty good condition, and the outside was pretty clean for this part of town. The Pantomime obviously took pride in keeping it looking nice.

That was even more obvious when Frank finally mustered up the courage to go inside the low light establishment. It was early in the day, so there weren't too many people around. Frank was sort of thankful for that, he wasn't sure he wanted to tangle with the sort of people who hung around in places like this. He wandered around until he spotted the most official looking woman in the room, busy writing things down on her clipboard and sitting on the stage, between the red velvet curtains. She was scarily fashionable, dressed professionally with a pair of cat-framed glasses that made her seem a little less intimidating. She was scribbling away, oblivious to anything around her. Frank felt intimidated just standing near her, but people were starting to stare so now would be as good a time as any to get this over and done with. 

Frank wasn't entirely sure what the order of operation was like here, did he just ask her? And who did he ask for, Pantomime? He never caught the owner's real name. That wasn't really something he made a habit of asking people he interviewed. 

"Name?" She asked him while he was lost in thought, snapping him out of it. She looked just a bit impatient, which made Frank feel sort of bad, she was probably busy. 

"Frank," he said quickly, and she nodded and went back to her clipboard, probably writing out way more than was necessary.

"Frank," she repeated. "Well, welcome to Pretty Liars."

 

 

Frank liked Victoria.

He didn't really mind Pretty Liars either. It wasn't really his scene, and he wasn't fond of having to clean up after everyone. But he was perfectly happy staying there, so much so that it made him upset every time he thought about leaving.

The Pantomime- Brendon, his name was Brendon- was actually a pretty stellar dude. A bit weird, maybe, but Frank liked him. And he liked Victoria. She was pretty much the head honcho, even if Brendon owned the place. And she was also not a superhero, and got Frank on a level that nobody else could, and her heels were always impossibly high so he always felt like he was following a goddess around.

She may as well be. 

Frank slept on her couch in the tiny apartment she had above the laundromat across the street. On night three, she let him sleep in her bed because it was cold. Nothing happened or anything, Victoria had the kind of look about her that sort of spelled trouble if you tried anything without her giving a definite yes.

And sure he was infatuated with her but that wore off quick. Victoria was just too nice to pursue in that kind of way, and Frank had kind of always wanted a friend he could relate to on the level they were on.

He also couldn't stop thinking about Bob, and not in a good way. That killed off good feelings faster than he could replace them. 

On day five, Victoria took the broom from Frank's hands just before it was time for them to open, which was usually when Brendon had him go do some other chore that was even more tedious than the one he was doing. 

Instead, Victoria whisked him across the floor, past a group of giggling show girls all dressed and ready to go. They were going down to the dressing rooms, Frank knew the layout by now. "You're going to stay with me tonight," Victoria told him, and Frank had noticed that she was dressed fancier than usual- the fur coat was for special occasions, she was always telling him. She had her hair curled up nicely and everything too. Maybe they had to go run an errand? Brendon and Victoria always looked their best when they went out. 

Maybe Frank would have to look his best too if he wanted to tag along? Victoria lead Frank into one of the dressing rooms, sitting him down in the chair.

"Do you know what the date is?"

"No." He had lost track of time. His Divine Mission™ had to be put on hold while he put his life back together, and working at Pretty Liars might have been boring, but Frank was always busy.

"Well there's a big party tonight. You're going to come with me," was all Victoria said before breezing out of the room. Frank wasn't sure what to make of that, and he didn't have a lot of time to puzzle it over or ask questions because two of the other show girls came in, chattering excitedly about things Frank couldn't begin to understand. He didn't know them by name, but they were nice, and they left clothes for him. Fancy ones. This was going to be a serious errand, by the looks of it. 

At least the girls didn't stay to watch him change like they were threatening to, but they did have to come back and fix him up. Frank could tie a tie on his own, and they were impressed by that. Apparently he didn't look the type. Catholic school was his explanation.

For almost an hour until Victoria came to fetch him, Frank was trapped in between two girls who fussed over his clothes and smeared makeup over his face- even though it was entirely unnecessary and must have been some cruel punishment ordered by Victoria for sassing her earlier. They talked about Brendon and Victoria and Victoria's friends and the show they were supposed to be in. Frank wasn't following it all, he was sitting there staring at himself in the mirror, trying to convince himself that the makeup the girls had insisted on was okay. 

They smeared magenta over his eyes and did his hair at least ten different ways until they were satisfied- Frank didn't even have all that much hair to fuss around with but they managed.

"Oh my god, I love it," the girl with the green eyeshadow said, leaning down so her chin was nearly on Frank's shoulder. And okay, maybe he did look pretty okay like this. The other girl laughed when he smiled despite himself. 

As good as he looked, though, Frank paled in comparison to Victoria, who had changed her dress to something black and devastating under the coat. She grinned at him in the mirror as she leaned in the doorway and the girls squealed and fawned over the both of them until they had to leave, Victoria linking her arm through Frank's and leading him along.

"That look really does suit you," Victoria told him as they made their way out of the establishment, and Frank stopped worrying for a little bit because if Victoria thought so then it was obviously true. 

Brendon was waiting outside by the car, under an umbrella that someone else was holding. He had an ornate gold mask over his eyes, and his suit looked like someone made it out of red velvet curtains, but he still made it work. Frank felt inadequate again.

Victoria was utterly delighted by this look, however. Apparently she hadn't been able to express it properly inside. "Really, though, look at you!" She bent down a little to adjust Frank's tie. "You clean up nicely, don't you Frank? It's a long drive though. Don't fuck up your hair or anything."

"Got it," he said. He wished he could have brought his bag- his notebook especially. Victoria said it would be a long drive, and that was it, that was all the information he got. Ridiculous. Frank sat in the back seat of Brendon's car while the other two sat in the front, and they gossiped and talked and talked about all the people Frank didn't know and probably never would. That had happened a lot today. He sort of wished he could be in on it, but conversations with Brendon could get real weird real quick, so this was probably a mercy. 

Frank drummed a beat on his knees, watching the city in the rain as it passed by his window, splashes of colours and lights splattered across the window, broken up by rain drops that clung there. They passed by his building. Well, his old building. They passed by the Bakery, and the park. He counted the places he'd run into random heroes, scattered throughout the town.

They drove down the waterfront. Going by this way always made Frank think of his Divine Mission™ and everything he wasn't doing to make progress. Where the Bureau of Unfinished Business had been there was a flower shop next to one of those fancy frozen yogurt places. Spacial magic was really something. Frank was in awe.

Frank only realized where they were going when Brendon stopped and got out of the car- there was nowhere to go from here but the dock. And there was only one place to go from the dock. 

_The Island._

They were going to the Island. That meant the Bridge Memorial was today. It had been three years.

Frank's heart picked up almost immediately- this was where he'd wanted to be for half his life. No regular people were allowed on the Island though, so Frank never had a chance.

He wondered why Victoria was allowed to go then. Maybe she did have a power after all. She seemed to always knew what was going on on a supernatural level. But Brendon sure belonged.

There were two other people on the dock dressed all fancily, waiting for the little light on the bay that would take them over. Frank knew immediately that they were heroes. He recognized one to be Spectrum, though she'd dyed her hair orange and pulled it up into a fancy up-do full of curls. It really did suit her. 

The other was a tall, lean man in a jacket and black skinny jeans that were not fit for where they were going. He had sunglasses on, which was the sort of douchebaggery that Frank wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. Sunglasses. At _night_. Frank was getting vibes from him, but he wasn't sure what those vibes were.

They stood in a line under umbrellas, except for Frank because he didn't fit. Whatever. It wasn't raining too hard. Victoria seemed not to care about his hair or his makeup anymore. 

Brendon was steadily looking at the guy just as Spectrum was steadily not looking at him. The three totally ignored each other. Frank was too giddy with excitement to comment.

 _Finally_. Years and years of waiting and he was finally going to get on the Island. He rocked back and forth on his feet waiting for the boat to come in, and Victoria had to ask him at least three times to stop because it got obnoxious after a while.

He had already smudged his makeup and his hair was getting soaked in the rain, so he had to stay on Victoria's good side. Who knew what she would do if he made her mad.

Frank felt terrible in a moment because the guy in front of them produced a red and white cane from seemingly nowhere and tapped it on the ground twice before proceeding, taking care in going over the steps.  

Something clicked, and Frank realized what the vibes he was getting meant. 

"That's Vane?" he whispered to Victoria, who nodded, smiling.

"Oh how the mighty fall, eh?" Frank hadn't meant it like that. He had never met the Artist's brother, and he was a lot more... attractive in person. He was always so dour looking in the comic books. Everyone seemed to want to paint him that way. "You can go talk to him if you want," Victoria said. There was that sixth sense again.

Aboard the boat, Vane went to stand by the rail in the rain, and Spectrum went to stand beside him. Frank felt like it would be a bit weird to see her in this context, so he waited until she'd said her piece.

"Why are they coming so late," Frank asked Victoria. He wasn't sure why he though she'd know.

"Vane is lazy I guess. And Spectrum's got a kid. She has to find someone to take her before she goes to stuff like this," Brendon answered for her. "Cute kid. She's lovely, too."

"Oh," was all Frank had to say to that.

"We'd take her but you know. We don't really work in a kid-friendly environment," Victoria put in. Frank could agree with that. He watched the water, looking over at Vane every once in a while. Victoria and Brendon talked. Vane stayed stone faced.

People usually pegged him as someone who was always stone faced and emotionless, but Frank figured it was probably just for today. Everyone was just trying to hold it together. He caught Brendon with the same expression a few times, though he seemed to be better at hiding it. Brendon had mastered the art of not caring. 

Frank never really ended up talking to Vane or Spectrum.  

He stood at the railing and watched the world go by, trying not to mess up his hair anymore than he already had. The Island was lit up like a Christmas tree, as it was every year at this time. Usually it was dark and you could hardly see it at night, just the few tiny lights from the streetlamps and houses. Brendon and Victoria were dead silent from the moment they stepped off the dock. The three of them just walked through the colourful, empty streets. They were right beside Vane and Spectrum, but they didn't acknowledge them. 

Frank tried his best to take it all in, despite the mood. 

The streets were covered in confetti and flower petals and streamers. Decorations adorned the lamp posts and fences, and there were lots of discarded paper signs here and there. It looked more like a parade had gone by than anything that could be considered a memorial. Then again, they were going to a fancy party. People didn't seem to care too much about mourning. Frank wondered about that. 

The house they strolled up to was probably the biggest Frank had ever seen. Victoria didn't seem too impressed, Brendon's face seemed frozen in the same neutral expression Frank had seen on Spectrum earlier. He wasn't giving anything away.

There were people everywhere, Frank knew most of them had no powers at all, but since everyone was dressed so strangely he couldn't quite tell who was a hero and who wasn't like he usually could. He was probably the most conservative person in the joint. 

His senses were buzzing big time. It was a bit disorienting. Frank stepped closer to Victoria, half to steady himself and half to avoid a really drunk red haired girl in a dress she was tripping over. Victoria laughed and linked their arms together. "Chin up," she said. "Brace yourself."

Frank wasn't actually prepared for any of it. It was just like a house party on steroids, the place was packed, but people still made room for Victoria and Brendon when they breezed into the establishment. Brendon disappeared into the crowd super fast, but Victoria had to subject Frank to more attention than he needed or wanted, of course.

There was a buzzing in the back of Frank's head that wouldn't go away, he must have locked eyes with at least twenty people. His limit was usually around three. Everyone was staring. Victoria let him go for just one second but he felt like if he was in the spotlight for one more minute he might spontaneously combust.

He had to go.

He had no idea where he was going.

Frank wandered for a bit, hoping Victoria wouldn't be mad about his spontaneous disappearance, but she seemed caught up with a rather tall, handsome gentleman in a green suit and sunglasses, so he figured it would be fine to just... go. She'd made her statement.

Frank didn't even know where he was and wasn't allowed, but there seemed to be less people upstairs. He assumed he was allowed upstairs, if there were people up there. Or maybe none of them were allowed up there, at least he wouldn't be alone when they got busted. There weren't as many people in the halls up the big fancy stairs. It was more cramped, however, people standing against the walls and talking, drinks in hand. Someone who looked like Starkid brushed past him roughly, nearly spilling whatever was in his cup on him. Frank managed to dodge it somehow. 

He sort of wished he had a drink.

No matter. He wasn't about to navigate that crowd of increasingly drunk individuals to find one. Maybe he could find a quiet place and camp out until Victoria came to find him like she said she would? Or maybe he could find someone he knew vaguely- Spectrum or Brendon or- would Velocity even be there? Were Third Wave heroes even allowed at these functions? If all these random powerless people were surely they'd let other heroes in...

Frank ducked into one of the rooms- okay no that was a bad idea. Why hadn't they closed the door? He closed it for them, blushing hard as he continued down the hallway. Frank hadn't gotten a proper look at the inside of the next room, so he just assumed he was fine.

Apparently not, because he was pushed out, the door closed behind him. "You're not allowed in there," the Artist said, and Frank was stunned momentarily.

"You look different," Frank said, which had nothing to do with the fact that he shouldn't be trying to get in that room, but he still felt like it should be said. The Artist's hair was bright red. It had been brown when Frank had seen it last. This was a good look, though, his hair really worked well with the suit he had on. Bright blue. When Frank had to look away he looked down and caught a glimpse of some incredibly professional kitten socks.

"Gerard, was it?" Frank couldn't help but smile. What great socks. 

"Why are you up here?" The Artist wasn't impressed.

"I didn't know I wasn't allowed. Wanted to find somewhere quiet, you know?" Frank shrugged. The Artist nodded slowly, looking back at the door uncertainly before opening it again.

"It's quiet in here," he said, and Frank walked past him, mumbling a thank you.

It was another bedroom. All the lights were off, but the windows were all open so it wasn't too dark. The room didn't feel right for some reason Frank couldn't place, it was too still, smaller than anyone would expect a room in this house could be. Nice, though. There was a little balcony, and you could see out into the bay from there. Frank stepped out onto it, feeling better already. It was calmer in here. Sad, but calm. The Artist stepped out with him, huffing. He wasn't in a very good mood. 

"Really, is your name Gerard or isn't it?"

Frank was ignored. "You can't stay up here too long, got it?"

"And you can?" Frank leaned against the railing, watching the boat on the water. It had stopped raining. That was nice. His hair was still damp and annoying, so it was too late. 

"This is Starkid's house," the Artist said simply, looking from Frank to the water. Frank supposed that was his entire explanation. He wasn't satisfied with it. 

"You two are friends then?"

"No," the Artist laughed. "Not in the slightest."

"Hm." And it was quiet for a while. The Artist looked tired, not like he wanted to talk. Frank really liked his suit though. Why couldn't he have worn something like that, if formal wear was obligatory? He'd ask Victoria about that later. 

A few agonizingly long moments later, Frank had to take action. "My name is Frank, if you forgot." 

"Gerard."

"I knew that. Why are you up here? Were you looking for your brother?"

"Mi- he's still downstairs. I just don't like crowds," Gerard said. "Needed a break."

"It's wild down there," Frank agreed with a nod.

"Always is." Gerard went quiet again. He'd been caught up by the water, apparently. Or maybe he's just very adamantly not looking at Frank, who was birning with questions. Did he come to the Island often? Did he make a habit of visiting Starkid's house? How did he know so much about it if he and the Starkid weren't friends?

"It's weird," Gerard finally said, and Frank choked back his questions to listen. "I hate these parties. Everyone else who was _there_ hates these parties. Everyone else adores them." Frank didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded, figuring that Gerard was going to continue with that thought. "Like you- nobody knows anything about anything, is what I'm getting at. That's it. This big party isn't in remembrance of anyone who died. You know how many normal people back on the mainland hate this too? It wasn't just heroes who died, you know." He was wringing his hands nervously, grumbling. "I don't know. I just don't trust their intentions. Starkid doesn't even live here anymore."

"I hear you," Frank said, nodding again. "I hear you."

Gerard looked over at him, somewhat suspiciously. Frank did feel a bit guilty about being here just for the party, but hey, that wasn't his fault. "Who are you here with anyways?"

"Victoria."

Gerard's eyebrows shot up. "Asher? I don't know how you landed that, but good job."

"I'm staying at Pretty Liars," Frank said slowly. What business did Victoria have with any superheroes that weren't Brendon? He's have to make inquiries later.

"That explains the clothes then."

Frank picked idly at his suit, frowning. That was _just_ the vote of confidence he needed. "I didn't think they were that bad," he mumbled, and that made Gerard smile just a bit. 

"No, you're right. You look just fine."

"I think you look really handsome. Like, not a hobo. Like you usually look. That's a cool suit. And also I like your socks. I've been waiting to say that."

Gerard studied him for a moment, then he smiled wider. It was genuine, and Frank was seriously proud. "Thank you, Frank."

"Thank you for improving my night, too."

"I had no part in it. Call it fate." Gerard turned around and sighed, looking back at the room. "I should probably go back and pretend to be enjoying myself, shouldn't I? I left my brother all alone. He must be swarmed by pretty people right now."

Frank wanted to protest, but it wasn't really his place to do so. "Go get 'em, tiger."

"Thank you, thank you. It's been fun." Gerard seemed genuine in saying that. "I like you better when you're not asking invasive questions."

Frank snorted. "Reassuring."

"I'll see you around, Frank." And off he went. Frank watched him leave before deciding to go find Victoria. Once the door had closed, and the noise of the party had been sealed away, he took one last look out at the water and tried to wipe the smile off his face.

Nothing could take him down now. 


End file.
